


Broken Masks

by Sppielles



Category: We Happy Few (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Gay Relationship, Drug Use, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Overdosing, Schizophrenia, Self-Doubt, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:14:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27608180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sppielles/pseuds/Sppielles
Summary: The Main story from the eyes of a player that may or may not be addicted to this game. There will be twists, things written differently to show more drama, much more violence, and over all just things i wanted to see in the game that didn't happen/things that weren't really explained.The part with Sally and Arthur may get twisted while i try to save this trainwreck.(I know there are mistakes and I will be going over the chapters fixing them(the poor writing also, the first chapter will be better i promise))
Relationships: Sally Boyle/Arthur Hastings
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13





	Broken Masks

The gentle humming of machinery surrounding him put him at ease and made it easier to settle into his used up red chair. Sooner or later he's going to have to ask for a new one, or his back will start protesting. It's so strange to think about how quickly the time passed here. How can you keep track of time when all your days are good days? It all just blends into one huge pleasant feeling in the end. He doesn't even remember when he managed to surpass his coworkers and get the employee of the year award, but that hardly mattered. Now, there's a gorgeous golden plaque, reminding him of his achievement along with a stunning view outside his office window, where he can see the busy streets of the Parade district in all their glory. The people passing by on their way somewhere important, trying to keep up with the newest fashion trends to look as good as ever and indirectly giving Arthur a good fashion show each week. How dazzling the streets looked with their fancy decorations and blinding lights. The positive energy radiating off of all that felt thick enough to weave your fingers through, and that was the magical part in this job. 

He's half the reason everyone is so happy, not to toot his own horn to much. Everyone working here knew their place, knew their value, and knew how much they sacrifice eveyday to make the view outside his window look as beautiful as it looked right now.

It's a lovely day, and it always will be.  
There is no such thing as a bad day in Wellington Wells.

The radio he turned on before slouching down at his desk jumped back to life after a short news flash from Uncle Jack, reminding every joyful citizen that everything was peachy keen. The music drowned out all the thoughts that previously troubled his mind, not that there were many to begin with, and now he felt like he can truely start another hard day of work. Its simple enough to do, but the importance of it always lingered. Just read the page you're given, censor what doesn't spark joy and off it goes to bring happiness in it's path. 

Hours swam by as Arthur worked in silence until he started to hum along to the upbeat tunes on the radio. Today seemed to not be as busy as the other ones. No one stepped in to bother him or ask for help, and there were only 3 more articles he had to go through. More time to get back out there and maybe meet some new folk. That was always a pleasant thing to do. There might be something that he's forgetting, though.

No matter. He'll remember later. 

Arthur grabbed another article and pushed it into the restoration machine, slouching forward a tad bit more to read what was written in it before approving it and sending it off. The next one was way too old timey to be of any interest, it even breached the close line to being distasteful. A quick swipe and the problem was taken care of. Arthur send down the censored one and reached for the final one, already thinking about the free time he'll get until eventually more articles will flow down to him. Being the better appreciated employee made his work time a little slimmer, not that he minded. 

The last one went in and he did the standard procedure. His brows furrowed as he reread the headline multiple times, feeling dumbfounded. Static replaced the happy songs as they died down almost entirely, a single high pitched note left that was lengthening itself out until it resembled a whistle more than anything else. Everything seemed to sound far away, masked by a thick fog. Arthur's eyes were glued to the picture attached tot he page, familiarity dragging down the uncertain feeling that bubbled deep within. The bright, young faces on the page made something click back in his mind, a doormat he has been sweeping it all under came undone. 

"Oh, God."

A sinking feeling erupted in his chest, overcoming his senses. His breathing became shallow when more sounds cut through the barrier, prompting him to abruptly stand up from his chair, nearly knocking it over. That sinking feeling kept digging deeper and deeper and deeper, draining his vision of warm, fuzzy colours and exchanging them with their much more gray replacements. He looked around, frantically looking for the source of those God awful noises, then doubled over as a sudden wave of nausea hit him hard. Through his distressed state of mind he reached towards the pill bottle resting beside the restoration machine.

"I should just take my Joy," Arthur hesitated for a split second, looking at the pink pill he held between his fingers. "Shoudn't I?"

The noises became louder, more clearer. A familiar sounding voice called out to him through the crashing sounds of train wheels screeching to a halt.

Arthur shut his eyes tight and slammed his hand on the desk. Too many sounds. Too many memories. Nothing a little Joy won't fix. This is just a withdrawal, it's not happening. It never happened. His palm lifted up to reveal the pills in question. Just a little fix, no one will know this happened. No one has to know this happened. There's nobody here to notice him off his Joy. That sent a shock throughout his entire body.

With the inner battle won, he shoved the pills off of his desks surface. The voice called again when the pill bottle hit the bottom of the bin. This time he answered back to it, fresh memories cutting their claws into his reality. Arthur fell back down onto his seat and reached his hands up to his aching head, massaging his temples in an futile attempt to soothe the throbbing pain. His watery eyes flicked to the giant clock on his wall. He watched mesmerized as the hands og the clock moved smoothly across it's face with astonishing speed. The burning at the back off his throat almost made him reel.

"What have you been up to? No one's seen you for hours!" Her abrupt intervention made his heart jump to his throat. At least the colours looked normal again.

"Oh," Arthur said, a sense of shock washed through him as he heard how hoarse his voice sounded. He gestured absentmindedly to push away any suspicions she may have. "Nose to the grindstone... you know."

She eyed him down carefully. Even with the permanent smile on her face he could see the way her expressions changed to not so subtly show her disbelief. "Then why haven't I heard a single whoosh through the door since 10 o' clock?" The clicking sounds of her heels were gretly subdued by the carpeted flooring, but he still felt a shiver crawl up his spine as she stepped in front of him, her hand at her hip. "Did you forget that we're having Deidre's bithday party? We've got a pinãta!"

So that's the thing he forgot about, huh. Arthur was just about to stammer out his excuse when her eyes spotted something on the floor next to his disorganized desk. He had a pretty good guess what that might be.

"Have you forgotten your Joy?" She was now at his side, breaching his personal space with an accusing look and the abandoned pill in her hand.

"Course not!" That might have sounded a little bit too forced. In his panic he added, "Snug as a bug on a drug."

"Well, c'mon then, finish up!" Was she always this demanding? 

"I just have a few more pages...I... I know you're very busy."

"Then don't take too long to finish," she said then swallowed the pill still in her hand. 

Arthur's eyes went back to that cursed page that coused all of this, still awaiting its verdict as the screen went black. "Aha- the power cell's empty."

"Oh, what will you do?"

Arthur really doesn't remember her voice being this irritating. Was it always like that? "I'll get a new one?" He cursed internally at how pathetically that question came out. She didn't even bother responding to him. She just stood in the doorway, hand on her hip. Her face looked brighter, more happier, so maybe it's a good thing he shoved those pills off of his desk. She needed them more to calm her temper. 

The Power cell was easy enough to pop out of place. Arthur stood up, trying to avoid eye contact as much as he could without making his state widely known, and he walked to the side to get a fresh power source. The old one nearly missed the bin as he threw it along side the pill bottle. 

Snapping it back into place, the young faces on the page looked at him again. Arthur's breathing hitched as the train whistle echoed back in his mind again. Hesitation filled him only for a moment before he send down the approved article.

"Yes. One could read that without a ripple in one's teacup."

At this point he was certain that he can bid this job goodbye after todays antics, and that comment made sweat roll down his neck. How does she know? 

"Well, I expect you in the conference room presently, don't dawdle. You don't want to miss the pinãta."

"Um... Wasn't Prudence supoosed to be coming back today?" Arthur dug that question out of nowhere to hopefully change the subject as quickly as he could. "I made her a welcome back card."  
He raised his head only to realize that his question was left unheard, being left alone yet again in his office. At least he doesn't have to keep this charade up any longer.

The churning in his stomach kept him on edge, and the last thing he wanted to do right now is some socializing, being between people. This felt wrong, all of this felt awfuly wrong. His withdrawal might have simmered down a little, but his mind was still trying to cope with the sudden change that sprung itself onto him. There were two more articles left. Should he care? No, Arthur. You shouldn't, he thought to himself. You should just get it over with so you can go see a doctor so he can fix you up and maybe drag you out of this pit you fell into. That's the sensible thing to do. Then again, he can just do his job. Arthur wondered briefly what kind of stuff has he been keeping away from the public, what everyone in here was keeping away. The page made his stomach clench more, but why should no one else remember this. This happened. This is something that should be all around town. Have they been lying to people? 

Arthur send the articles down, incorrectly approved, and tried to stand up. It was easier said then done when your legs felt like cotton. He grumbled in his struggle, but he stepped through the other side. Now, in the middle of the hallway where people can come and go whenever they please, it's going to be much harder to not get caught. If it wasn't for Ms. Bing he would have stayed in there and waited until closing time. Then it would be less hard to act like a normal person. Everyone was barely standing then, it would be easy to blend in with the crowd. How the hell will you get out of here now, you idiot...

Should have asked that question before he stepped out of his office. His legs seemed to quickly adapt to this change, still shaky, but only noticable if he were to stand in one place for too long. Great, he felt like shit and now he can't even stand up properly. Brilliant.

Maybe its was a blessing in disguise that his office was the last one at the end of this long corridor. That would probably give him enough time to collect himself. Hopefully.

The bright lights popping up from almost every available surface, that once looked very appealing to him, made his eyes hurt with their excessive placement. Persistent, Arthur walked down the hall. His attention was grabbed by a note forced between a small crack in a door next to him. He wasn't usually the nosy type, he never even questioned why they were doing all of this until today, but when he read who the office belonged to he just couldn't control his impulses. Clive wouldn't mind. To be honest, Arthur doesn't give a shit even if he would. It's his last day being alive, or at least his last day in this office. When the others will find out about what happened, he can kick himself out to save them the trouble. Now, it's time to look around the place before he'll never lay his eyes on these walls ever again.  
He tried to wedge the paper out of the crack, tugging carefully enough to not rip the edges if he'll need to put it back in its place. That plan failed fast as half of the letter was now clutched between his fingers while the other part slipped in the other side of the door, opening it in the process. Well, Arthur wanted to read about about what happened, but now there was a whole new field to play around. Again, he doesn't give a shit. Clive wanted his window view for a long time, and he's gotten so desperate that Arthur is surprised how he hasn't poisoned his coffee yet. He would probably dance on his grave.

He slipped in, not bothering to close to door behind him, and there were already clear signs as to why he wasn't the awarded employee. Besides the paperwork being thrown into disheveled looking piles, pieces of glass all around the place and the strong stench of alcohol, Arthur swore that there might be something more if he just took more steps in. No pain in doing that. He stepped over the mysterious red line marking the floor. Probably to give people a safe distance to not pass out from the horrible smell this place emitted. Arthur's been to many bars in his life, but this place smeeled like Clive was cleaning every surface with a bottle of whisky. He held his nose as he finally reached the desk, surprisingly well kept. There were also some articles here little Clive left unattended. Arthur was half tempted to drag this prick down with him until his eyes spotted a picture of himself taped onto the side of a file cabinet. It had been scratched on with a red marker. Good to know that the feeling was mutual between them. What grabbed his attention even more was the scrunched up note right underneath that picture.

"That little shit," Arthur muttered and tore the note into little pieces. Of course it would be a page filled with hatefull things written towards his person. Arthur stomped back to the desk and send down the incorrect articles. Suffer with me, why don't you.

At least that little inconvenience put back the spring in his strut, too bad it was the negative kind. God, just let Arthur find that little shit. 

The next office had it's owners name almost entirety blacked out, the letters that have fallen off a long time ago still present on the floor. Out of the people he respected in this office, Prudence had a special place she held at the top of the podium. She was kind, unlike Clive. She was probably the reason he hasn't burned down his office yet. Wouldn't want to send her off with the ash. The door to her office was slightly cracked open, just a little push was all it took to get it to give up and open completely. A "welcome back!" Sign they put up there was losing its letters. Arthur thought about what happened to her many times before chucking another Joy pill down his throat. They said that she went on holiday. It was a long one, if that's the truth. He walked around, this time being pushed away by the smell of rotting food that sat there as a gift for her when she'll come back. The lovely basket looked much better the day they brought it in than the way it looked now. Whatever happened to you, Prudence? 

Something felt off about the way travel cards were taped up on the wall. Something sad. Wow, it was a long time since he thought about that word. He felt it expand as he looked at the picture frame perched up on her desk. Her whole family was there, hugging eachother with her standing in the middle. Arthur felt a pang in his chest when he finally got a clear view of what she looked like. The memories involving her became foggy over time, and seeing her smiling face brought a spark of actual happiness into his heart. When he couldn't bare it any longer and stepped out of the office, the last letters on the sign fell, displaying a pleading request more than a warm welcome.

Only one more door, Arthur. Get it together or go back to suffer in your office. His hand hovered over the handle as he took in the sight next to him. A window into one of the offices showed a scene the public doesn't really tell you much about, or they tell you, avoiding the plot thickening details. One of his coworkers he passed everyday to get to his own office was pushed against the desk by a doctor, his gloved hand gripping the shorter man's throat. The pleading didn't get him anywhere as a syringe broke through the skin in his neck and a wave of relief settled back into him. After a moment, his tired eyes found Arthur's and he waved at him, clearly feeling out of it. The doctor followed his gaze. There aren't many things that scare Arthur in life, but the way those cold green eyes seized him up, made him freeze like a dear in headlights. The man towered over him from the other side of the glass. He only felt safe enough to move when the blinds fell shut and the view in front of him vanished. There's no way that the doctor missed the way the door slammed behind him.

Arthur leaned against the door to try and desperately even out his breathing. The hair at the back off his neck stood when he thought about how that presumably happened everyday in here. You just don't notice it when you're high, flying around with your head in the clouds. He made his way throught the rest of the office with shaky legs, having to take a break near the window. There was a broadcast of one of Uncle Jack's programs playing outside the office. Arthur guessed it had something to do with health, judging the way Jack was dressed. There may be a way for him to turn back to normal, without the help of a doctor. Asking one for help after what he just saw a few seconds ago would be like shooting yourself in the foot. 

Arthur leaned his forehead against the cold glass and he took in a few deep breaths. All the things around him were too overwhelming without a drug holding him up straight. His hands pushed him away from the window when he finally felt well enough to not pass out or throw up the second his world gets turned upside down again. He trotted on, walking cautiously to not tip over the sky skraper sized piles of paperwork that littered the desks and to not trip over a stray power cell laying on the ground. Jesus, this place looked messier than his house. 

The tubes that carried along the articles and other messages were broken down, except the ones that lead to his office. One was broken in a way that all the important paperwork whooshed right down into the overfilling bin.  
Arthur froze in place again as he heard laughter coming from the door to the conference room. Ah... The party.

"There you are!" He barely pushed the door open and yet Ms. Bing already knew about his presence. Please say that this didn't take him too long. He won't hear the end of it as it is. Just spare him. "You nearly missed the pinãta!"

She forced a broom into his hand, then ushered him inside to close the door behind him, successfully locking out his only way of escape. The hell would he do, anyway? Hide under his desk until they forgot about his existence? 

"It's the most adorable Spanish custom. Uncle Jack did a whole show about it," she said while gesturing for him to come closer. "You smash it untill all the sweets come out!" 

The people surrounding the pinãta were all wearing bithday hats with glitter all over them. Arthur's grip on the brooms handle tightened as he looked them over. He hardly cared about how his face looked like when he put on the mask each morning, however this newly cooked Downer sense in him made the permanent smile look more sinister that bubbly and joyfull. 

"C'mon, hit it!" As if too back up Ms. Bing's exitment one of the employees hit the pinãta with full force. The noise it made did not even come close to what he thought it would sound like. It was like hitting something wet and fleshy, not like a piece of candy filled paper. 

The others started to usher him on as he stood there, not daring to move a muscle. The bright lights began to fade yet again. Arthur sensed that something was off, not only him. Regardless, he took a swing.

The fleshy noise reverbed in his mind as he raised his hands to shield his face, feeling something wet splash across his cheek. The rest of the party surged forward to the now broken open pinãta, only the scent of something rotten lingering in the cramped air shared between them. Arthur brough his palm to face him, inspecting it thoroughly. Blood stained his hand, it's dark smudges flowing down in drops off of his hands to the confetti covered floor. He staggered away a few steps, seeing all of the party guests shove rotten rat meat into their bloody mouths. His entire week worth of food came up to his throat, and he covered his mouth with his hand to try and keep himself together. If he wasn't hyperventilating before then he wasn't sure what to call what was happening to his body right now. Out of all the people in the room Ms. Bing was the one that noticed him not enjoying the party with them. She licked her blood stained fingers and looked at his eyes, fully blown out with fear.

"You are off your Joy!" Her tone made it seem like she was half surprised herself to find out about that. With that announcement everyone's eyes focused on him, chilling him to the bone. Ms. Bing reached into her pocket and held a pink pill, "Take one of mine."

Arthur's eyes flicked between her piercing stare and her hand. None of the outcomes will end well for him in this scenario.

Ms. Bing's face lost that happy smile the longer he prolonged his decision. "Oh my Lord... he's a Downer!" Screams erupted when she uttered those words. She ordered one of the attendants to get the security whilst the other one caught the next one when she fell over, passed out. If anyone should be passing out on fear, it should be him. He's the one who is about to lose his life. 

Arthur frantically looked around the place before his foot bumped into the open door. He rushed in the room, hardly caring what was inside of it as long as it put some distance between him and those blood thirsty maniacs. The broom was forced in the pull handle just in time to protect him from the door being violently tugged open. That won't last long with the way they're pulling. He looked for any kind of escape route, a vent, maybe a door, anything. There was a gap close to the ceiling that wasn't covered by the wall of file cabinets filling up the small room. It was way back in the days when he used to be good at climbing, and having a job where you don't even need to stretch your legs too much greatly affected his flexibility or any strength whatsoever. Arthur jumped up to hook his forearms on the top of the cabinet, struggling to pull himself up. His feet kicked open some of the drawers that weren't kept under a lock, then he used them as boosters to crawl over to the other side. He fell off of the cabinet and onto his back as he pushed forward a bit to roughly, but there was no time to cry over that minor injury. Better move before what's left of his family will have to cry at his funeral. Oh, who is he kidding? They'll throw him into a ditch for this and leave him to rot.

Arthur pushed himself onward, almost tripping over when he had to duck under some steel pipes blocking his way. He rushed out into a hall he's never been in. There wasn't much time to walk around and explore as his way was blocked by another door bursting open with two constables on the other side, determined to end this little Downer break swiftly now that they had him cornered. He managed to get a running start for a split second, and although the chances of his survival were thin, he still fought against the odds to try and get out alive. Then there was a kick to his back that send him tumbling down the stair with great force. The frames of his glasses cut into his temple when he reached a sudden turn in the stairs that send him flying face first into a walk, but he persisted and ignored the aching to limp down the rest of the steps. 

Arthur tried to block off any enterence he came across, even if just for a moment, to let him catch his balance and run for his life. He didn't know where he ended up, he didn't know this part of the underground connected to his office. There was no underground for him to begin with until he was running through it so it's safe to say that pure instinct was carying him. Whatever this place was, it had many twists and turns, rotten wooden pathways that would creek loudly once you setteled your weight onto them, many locked metal doors and everything else that was beggining to take a toll on his fleeting stamina. Smoking cigarettes when you're way too young does that shit to your lungs. Here he was hoping he'll get out of this pit by lung cancer, not by being beaten to death. 

Arthur ran as long as he could, twisting and turning on every opportunity to lose the heavy footsteps behind him. But that signature whistle the constables carried around still could be heard loud and clear. He came to a short corridor with almost no escape route. There was no way he'll go down any further. That exclusively left the door at the end of the hall. It was locked. 

His strength greatly doubled by the adrenalin coursing through his veins, however the door didn't budge. He set his mind onto the next best thing; the steel pipes next to the door. The impending footsteps became louder each moment he wasted thinking about his options, therefore he decided to bite the bullet and face this head on. His hands latched on the pipe that looked loose enough to yank out of place. Arthur had mere seconds to turn around and block the attack that one if the constables threw his way. The pipe was knocked out of his hands then the world became fuzzy and filled with pain as a wooden baton hit him straight on the side of his head. He fell down, not managing to brake his fall with his arms. The last thing he saw before a kick to the head knocked him unconscious was the side view of the corridor he just got chased through.

Lights danced around the darkness surrounding him in an unheard rhythm, flowing freerly in his subconscious mind. All the energy that coursed through him has dissolved into a measly facade of his previously gained form. It was all adrenalin and fear blocking out the outside stimuli, and with it gone, he felt weak and bad all over the place. The minor injuries didn't bother him before and they were greatly subdued at the moment as the serious ones dawned on him, dragging pained groans out of his burning lungs. It never occured to him that he would have to run ever again in his life. 

In Wellington Wells there was no need to run anywhere. Good citizens weren't chased down like rabid animals. 

Arthur let out a pained moan as he struggled to push himself up to his forearms. His vision seemed blurry and unfocused. He tried to push his glasses up to fix this issue only for his fingers to graze over the place where they should be. His hand pulled back to reveal red smudges all over his fingers, that slowly trickled down his palm. A few droplets splattered on the dirty ground next to where his hand layed, hopelessly trying to balance his entire weight. They quickly got absorbed by the larger chunks of dirt, darkening their shade. 

After a while, he pulled himself to his knees, taking a break to search for his glasses. And he found them, broken. Arthur underwent nearly all five stages of grief in a span of fifteen minutes as he tried to put them back together just so they would sit at the bridge of his nose without falling apart the next second. He cursed under his breath and stuffed them into his breast pocket. The lighheaded feeling didn't stop it's assult no matter how much he tried to calmly breathe, if anything that tripled it's effect. Through the mind fog he remembered overhearing the Bobbies talking about some sort of gas leak. That was likely cousing this. Arthur strained up to try and get on his feet and get out before he inevitably passes out, this time without a chance of waking up. 

He got through a couple of attempts, all ending the same way they begun. It ended with him crawling towards the nearest wall to use it's sticking out pipes as a way to support his aching body and pull himself off of the grimy floor. His hands latched from one pipe to the other, palms covered in tiny cuts and imprints. The one pipe he squeezed his hand around got him to hiss out in pain as the scorching metal left an angry red line in its wake. When he finally got his feet to comply, he held his hand hard enought to try and cut out the pain the irritated skin emitted. 

Ok, great. Fantastic. He's in a place he has never set foot once, he probably punctured his lung and he just gave himself second degree burns on his entire left hand. Now he just needed to get stabbed to death to end his miserable loop.

There was nothing to help him determine where he was, not even a map on the wall. Not that he would be capable of reading it correctly. Arthur had no clue for how long he ran, but there's no way he's still inside the Parade. Another cheery thought to add on the list.

Arthur didn't bother checking the door he came through to get down here, it was either locked or the Bobbies from earlier were waiting for him on the other side, just aching to give him a dose of some brute medicine. The thought of going down even more was also unappealing, but it was better in the state he was in. By no means he was outrunning another assult, his legs would give out under him. 

The door had a warning sign on it, telling anyone that trespassed here to not step any further if they weren't qualified. We're way past that point, aren't we? A wave of damn near euphoric relief washed over him when the door opened without any excessive issues. At this point he deserved at least a sliver of salvation from this pit of hell he fell into. Arthur stepped in and soaked up his surroundings, being hyperaware just in case. It would be stupidly easy to bring him down right now. But fortunately, the room was nothing more than one of the most ordinary places he has ever set foot in. Like an office, but mashed with an abandoned janitor's closet. Everything in this place looked like it surpassed centuries without anything disrupting its quiet slumber. Which meant that he'll get some peace. His legs got the least amount of damage done to them out of everything that happened so he felt them getting better just by walking around and exploring the tiny room. 

Right now, he's considered a full blown downer, huh? Well then, it wouldn't be surprising if he took some stuff, would it? There were some sovereigns on the tables, and some pins. No one would miss those. Arthur was tempted to move forward and maybe see the sun again before he bleeds out or passes out from stress, but something coiled inside him with heavy want to take a peak at the damage done to him. Mainly to his face, because getting kicked straight in it must have left some kind of mark. It looked like there was a bathroom in here. There might be mirrors. 

Arthur felt honestly impressed to see that some of the mirrors were still intact, albeit a little cracked. That was expected. He gusted out a long sigh, turning his head more to look at the wound on his temple. Good news was that it didn't look too serious, just a cut that bled out a little bit too much. Nothing a band aid wouldn't fix... It would be nice to have one. Arthur spotted a first aid pack sitting on one of the sinks along with some letters next to it. He ravaged through the pack, quickly ending his search when he couldn't even open the lock with one hand. His left one felt too tender to try and do anything hard with, and throbbing inside of it calmed down enough for him to focus his mind on anything other than pain. The faucets didn't work, great. He can't even treat his burned hand. With an annoyed groan he reach out to snatch the pages off of the ceramic bowl of the sink then moved out of the dingy bathroom. He skimmed over the pages until he got to the parts that weren't smudged. This handwriting seemed familiar. Wait... Did Prudence write this? It looked like a diary. 

So she didn't go on holiday. Christ, he doesn't know if that's a better or not. At least there's fresh hope inside of him that burned on with a thought that they might meet again, hopefully. Arthur folded the pages neatly and stuck them in the same pocket his glasses were. He then tied and failed at forcing open another door. This time, his grace period must have ended. He felt another crashing feeling catching up to him until he searched through his other pockets, digging up the pins he grabbed. Huh, this might work. It might be harder to do with one injured hand, but he doesn't want to die down here. He kneeled down at the door and pushed the pins in the lock. Years of breaking into places where he shouldn't be with his friends finally profited. The Door opened a few minutes later with a satisfying click. A less satisfying view met his eyes once he pushed the door open enough to look in the next room.

"What happened to him?" Arthur muttered to deaf ears. Once he walked up more, he noticed purple bruises all over the exposed parts of the skin. They focused around the poor guys neck, "...Or rather, who."

There was a small device laying near his sprawled out legs. It looked important. Maybe that's why he was like this? Someone wanted that, but had no other way of getting ir? He surely hoped not as he leaned down to pick it up. Since when looking at a corpse dragged little to no reaction out of him? This place really messed you up when you weren't shoving Joy down your throat. Arthur looked around more, passing the guy to not disturb the dead any longer. Show at least a fragment of respect. He put his guard down more as he walked around the place, just seeing a little resting place for the workes that did whatever they did down here. 

God, it must be a tedious job, but it looked like it's last member was laying dead on the floor so it's someone else's turn to take over this place. There was a bunk bed in the corner of the room, though. The other guy probably went out to investigate what the sound was and got dragged out by the constables for investigation purposes. Doesn't seem likely, but you have to calm your mind one way or another. Two only ways out were inaccessible, one being a locked door while the other was a ladder that ended with a hatch. Arthur walked towards the door with a glass window letting him peek into it. There was a console table with a large button that looked connected to something in the room he was in right now. Doesn't hurt to try and find out what it does. He crouched down again to pick the lock, this time doing it more swiftly. 

His victory was short lived as he heard rushed movement eruping from the vent behind him, the old metal groaning with the added weight. Arthur barely moved his neck to look in that direction before someone lunched themselfs onto his back, yelling profanities at him. He gasped for air when his attackers arms locked around his neck in a choke hold. His knees buckled under him with one swift kick, dragging him down and making those hands around his neck cling closer harder. Both of his hands reached up to sink his fingers into whatever he could, clenching as hard as he could even if the pain was breaching borderline painfull levels. With a yell, he was released. Arthur wasted no time shoving whoever attacked him away from with full force, only after he albowed them in the ribs. He closed his eyes, grabbing his blistering hand and hissing out as the pain came back even stronger. Once he opened them, confused after not receiving any more punches, he found the guy that tackled him on the floor, unconscious. That shove must have been harder than he intended it to be. Something evil inside him whispered in his ear to take whatever the guy had on him, pickpocket him and leave before he wakes up. Arthur felt almost sick to his stomach from even considering that. The more reasonable side of him won him over by simply suggesting to click the button and rush out if that possibility will occur. After he pushed the button down, the light next to it turned green and the ladder dropped down with a loud crash. He walked to it, considering if he should drag down the leaver that also light up near the metal door. A theory created iself in his mind and a quick test proved it when the door opened seemlesly after he dragged that leaver down. Something to remember, Arthur thought and then climbed up the ladder, trying his hardest to not out too much strain on his left hand.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know if anyone will read this, since this fandom isn't very huge, but hey, you got here. Congrats. With that being said I need to get this out of my mind before I'll lose it, so even if noone reads this I'll keep spaming Chapters.  
> It you have some questions about this then feel free to ask. I try to answer as quick as I can.(also hello, my first even contribiution to this fandom, christ)


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